


Bare Knuckle

by antioedipus



Category: Tokyo Mew Mew
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Light Smut, Romance, mostly happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29394342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antioedipus/pseuds/antioedipus
Summary: Making the kind of promises one can keep."Minto considers Zakuro’s question—will I let you get ready for the party? She hums, moving her hips side to side, shifting her weight as she thinks about it. They are most definitely going, but they don’t have to rush."No space or star metaphors in this one.
Relationships: Aizawa Mint/Fujiwara Zakuro
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Bare Knuckle

“I saw the setting sun on your neck”

Mitski, “Once More to See You”

Pulling the corner of her mouth open by using her finger as a hook, Minto inspects the pink linking of her cheek, looking at her straight, white teeth. She has a recurring anxiety dream that her teeth will all turn black and fall out of her head. Leaning right into the mirror, she wonders if it will ever come to pass. She once asked Zakuro if she could be psychic. Zakuro had raised an eyebrow and asked Minto why she wanted to know the future so badly; the past and present are stressful enough.

Relaxing her posture, Minto lets go of her mouth, before washing her hands. She’s all made up for Berry and Tasuku’s engagement party. A blue silk dress, a silver chain on her neck, silver studs in her ears. She stopped wearing feminine jewelry a month ago; it’s all unisex. Bu-Ling said that Zakuro has made Minto harder, in the sense that her outfits are not as soft and feminine as they once were. There is always a detail, like a chain or ring, that offsets the softness of the silk and cashmere she wears.

Minto leaves the bathroom, padding towards her bedroom, where Zakuro sits at a vanity, putting on mascara. She is just wearing a bra and panties—she never puts on her clothes before applying makeup. Minto looks at Zakuro’s long neck, the even line that curves up from her shoulders, through her throat, finding its end in her chin. Minto walks up behind Zakuro, placing her fingers at her temples, before combing through her hair with her fingers. Zakuro’s hair is so smooth, Minto’s fingers don’t even catch on the ends. Zakuro sighs, tilting her head to the side, blinking lazily.

“This feels nice,” Zakuro says. Minto smiles to herself.

“That’s why I’m doing this,” she says softly, “I want to treat you nicely.” Zakuro blows air through her nose instead of laughing.

“I like it better when you’re a little nasty,” Zakuro replies, closing her tube of mascara. Minto keeps running her fingers through her hair, thinking to herself. “Are you going to let me get ready for the party?”

Tasuku finally popped the question three months ago, in Paris, because he’s romantic. They are going to an engagement party at the café tonight—Ryou has closed it down and, apparently, bought a ton of champagne. They are all going to get drunk and eat rich food and celebrate two people who have loved each other since they were kids. Ichigo says that even if she had never met Masaya, seeing Tasuku and Berry would make her believe in soulmates.

To her knowledge, no one has looked at her and Zakuro and thought to themselves that soulmates must be real. It makes Minto a little upset, even though there is nothing to be mad about. She and Zakuro aren’t a particularly affectionate couple, and while she has always loved Zakuro, they’ve only actually been in love for three months, after three months of messing around—having sex and not talking for a week, ‘dates’ that were just going on aimless walks or being naked around each other, doing errands together—dumb, intimate things that bring two people much closer in a shorter period of time than the conventional formula of: ‘dinner and a movie and flowers and sex on the third date.”

Nonetheless, sometimes, Minto wishes that they would do romantic things, like stare into each other’s eyes in public. She once said this to Zakuro, who looked at her and said they already do that in private, and the last thing she wants is for the public to be any more involved in her personal business. _No one is entitled to know how I look at you_. Minto couldn’t find it in herself to say that it’s not about performing for other people, per se, but rather, because she wants to experience Zakuro’s softness outside of their respective apartments.

Minto considers Zakuro’s question— _will I let you get ready for the party?_ She hums, moving her hips side to side, shifting her weight as she thinks about it. They are most definitely going, but they don’t have to rush.

“Maybe not now,” Minto says softly. Zakuro’s smile is lupine, as they make eye contact in the mirror.

“Okay,” she says softly, “what do we do instead?”

“Whatever you want,” Minto replies, smiling softly when Zakuro stands up, turns around and kisses her with feeling. Zakuro’s hands are on her face, and she looks at Minto like she is special. Her favourite being in both the known and unknown universes, which may be one continuous universe, but no one can be certain. Minto’s arms drop to her sides, as she lets Zakuro in. She’s in one of her passive moods today, wanting to be the receptive partner. _Come inside me_. Words like ‘invade’ and ‘plunder’ bounce around Minto’s brain, as Zakuro walks her back to the bed, kissing her neck. Zakuro has to bend down to make up for their height difference and Minto’s passivity. When they get to the bed, Zakuro pulls back, her head tilted.

“Do you even want to do this?” she asks, a little worried. Minto has never rejected her, not once, and contrary to popular belief, one of Zakuro’s greatest fears is letting someone in, only to be abandoned.

“Yes,” Minto says, “I just don’t feel like doing any work today.” Zakuro rolls her eyes as Minto scoots back and pulls her dress up well past her hips, so that it won’t get dirty. She finds Minto endlessly entertaining; especially, all the ways she insists on being a lady right before they do the kind of things that make her toes curl and use the kind of language that no mother would approve of.

“When do you ever feel like doing work?” Zakuro says, getting on the bed and hooking her fingers into Minto’s sheer panties, before pulling them off.

“Some jobs are more rewarding than others,” Minto says, shrugging. Zakuro pauses as she leans down, looking up at Minto.

“You’re being weird,” she says.

“I guess,” Minto says, “I’m just…” She drifts off, looking away from Zakuro as she thinks about how she wants to say what she’s about to say. “I just want what they have.” She doesn’t have to elaborate on who _they_ are.

“We’ve only been together for six months,” Zakuro says quietly. She really and truly is not remotely ready for this conversation.

“But can’t you see yourself spending the rest of your life with me?” Minto asks. Zakuro sits back on her heels, and Minto takes in the long line that stitches her stomach together, the nipples that peak through the white cranes embroidered into the cream mesh of her bra.

“I’d like to be with you for a very long time,” Zakuro says carefully. She is too smart and loves Minto too much to promise the something she cannot guarantee. Minto is only twenty-one and while Zakuro feels ancient at twenty-four, she knows that they have, at least, another five decades to go.

Minto knows why Zakuro gives her the answer that she does. It’s far kinder to admit to uncertainty and doubt that it is to promise something you can’t deliver. Nonetheless, she is a little angry that Zakuro won’t bend a little for her.

“Sex isn’t a substitute for commitment,” Minto says, leaving her legs spread open.

“We are committed,” Zakuro replies, “I am very much bound to you.”

“You’re using kinky language to deflect,” Minto replies, sitting up on her elbows. The underwire of her bra digs painfully, but years of ballet has all but destroyed her ability to register pain. Mangled feet, sprained ankles, damaged tendons; she’s danced through them all. Some of her best performances were when she was in impossible amounts of pain—she numbed herself out by fully expressing it in her dance. So far, she has failed to transfer that skill to the rest of her life.

“Fine,” Zakuro says, “stop comparing us to couples who have been together for years.” It’s like Minto chooses to make these comparisons, in order to set them up to fail.

“It’s not about comparing,” Minto asserts, “I just want to feel like you love me when we aren’t in private.”

“What does that even mean?” Zakuro asks, annoyed. She feels like this has been sprung upon her.

“It means I just want to feel loved,” Minto says, “I want you to hold my hand and stare into my eyes the way you do when we’re alone.” She frowns, “I want to be loved.”

“You are loved,” Zakuro says, arching her eyebrow, “I love you very much.” It’s true; she doesn’t think she has ever felt this way about anyone before.

“No, like, I want it to look how I imagined it,” Minto says, “I want to be adored.” Zakuro sits with her words for a minute, thinking about the best way to make Minto feel better. An idea comes to her, and Zakuro smiles as she moves forward, leaning over Minto so they are nose-to-nose.

“And how do you imagine it?” she asks, her hot breath in Minto’s face. Minto reads the shift in tone, from annoyance to seduction, and decides that she wants to see where it leads.

“You hold my hand,” Minto says, trying not to smile when she feels Zakuro’s hand on the inside of her thigh. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

“Who says serious can’t be fun, Minto?” Zakuro says, moving her hand up, up, her thumb tracing inside a lip.

Minto smiles softly, meeting seduction with softness. She puts her hand on Zakuro’s cheek, her thumb rubbing her cheekbone. Minto’s lips part and her hips tilt as Zakuro begins to touch her. She feels Zakuro watch her closely, and Minto sighs.

“Because you use fun to get out of serious,” she says quietly. Zakuro leans forward and kisses Minto’s neck, who resents her deeply, in this moment, for the white-hot lightning that is building in her spine. Minto’s hands press into Zakuro’s back, and she moans in a very unladylike way.

“Fucking is pretty serious,” Zakuro says, “I don’t joke around with your orgasms.” Her hand searches for the softest parts of Minto, who wants to spit something back but knows that the best way to devastate Zakuro is to be earnest.

“I just have a whole picture inside my head of how I’d like things to be,” Minto says, “there are so many things I want us to do.” She bites her lip and smiles when Zakuro moves to look her right in the eye.

“I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what you want,” Zakuro murmurs. Minto takes a beat, before telling Zakuro what she really, really wants.

“I want to be with you forever,” she says. Zakuro’s throat constricts, and her lip twitches.

“We’ve already talked about this,” she replies, her hand slowing. Minto wiggles her hips, frustrated that Zakuro stopped.

“Not like this,” Minto says. It’s true—they avoid speaking in cosmic terms. It’s not Zakuro’s style, and after the whole invading space alien thing, the stars have lost their appeal.

“Forever is impossible,” Zakuro says, “but I can give you for as long as we both want to be here.” She likes to think that will be a long time. “I’m sorry I can’t do better.”

Minto smiles, brushing Zakuro’s bangs off of her face. “You wouldn’t be you if you made promises you can’t keep.” Zakuro will never bullshit her, of this, Minto is certain. Zakuro kisses her throat, before moving down, down, past the thin waist and cute bellybutton, to place her mouth between Minto’s pale thighs.

It’s like an orange cut open and turned inside out, pulp and juice sticking to fingers and lips. The hot, sticky skin of summer, the kind that sticks to itself. Minto feels turned inside out, like her insides are exposed, while Zakuro, with her fingers and mouth and tongue, looking for the thing everyone looks for in sex. She feels the sweat from the back of Minto’s thighs on her shoulder, and Zakuro knows that she’s found what she’s been looking for when Minto digs her heel into her back and screams.

**Author's Note:**

> My actual OTP. Feel free to leave a comment-I eat 'em up.


End file.
